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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223243">The Masks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot-Centric, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal dream, Immortal technoblade, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Masks, Niki | Nihachu-centric, Out of Character, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, Twins Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:55:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Technoblade and Dream. Gods among men. They've existed as long as anyone can remember and have legends far older than anyone could know. But what if they are not as immortal as they seem? What happens when being a god is just too much?</p><p> </p><p>Or, what happens when a god dies?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. What Happened On The Beach</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hello, Techno."</p><p>The waves crash onto the shore, though the night is still. Glowing red eyes blink through a mask, never once flicking to the figure crept up beside him, fixed on the moon across the water. Pale golden wisps of light fell slowly through the sky, growing ever closer to the inky depths below.</p><p>Sand crunched beneath combat boots as the figure sat themselves down. In the night, their mask shone like a second moon itself.</p><p>They sat there, in silence, until Techno's voice cut through the serenity.</p><p>"Do you ever get tired of it?"</p><p>"Of what?"</p><p>"Of all this," he throws his arms to the horizon. "This life. It's nothing like you wanted, is it?"</p><p>An intake of breath, sharp, wary.</p><p>"Come on, admit it. You know that you didn't want it to turn out like this."</p><p>Softly, the pale mask is removed, and he whispers his response to the night. "No. I never asked for this."</p><p>Techno snorted, something between mild cynicism and grim satisfaction in knowing he was right, a touch of understanding in his undertone. His shoulders sagged with a familiar burden. He laid his head back against the sand, staring up at the stars. "What do you think would have happened, if you never took it?"</p><p>His companion sighs wearily. "I'd have lived a normal life. No fame, no fortune, just... peace. Comfortable peace."</p><p>"I don't know what I would have done without it. Probably grown up with Wilbur. That would have been nice. At least I know I wouldn't have gone mad until my early twenties at least." He cracked a smile, the slightest twitch beneath the mask. Short-lived and shallow. "Maybe I wouldn't be so tired."</p><p>"Why did you come out here?"</p><p>"The same reason you followed me all the way from my house. Because I don't want to keep trying any more."</p><p>"We can't stop. What would happen then?"</p><p>"Someone far worthier would take our place."</p><p>"That's not an option-"</p><p>"Isn't it?" He rolls over to look the other in the eye. "Why not? We've done enough damage already, why not put an end to it? We've both hurt our families - hell, we've even hurt each other's, so why not stop it now?"</p><p>"That would be selfish, Techno."</p><p>"We're saving lives."</p><p>"We'll be dooming others!"</p><p>"Who cares!" The beach shifts in a flurry of sand, the swish of a cape sending it flying. Boots pace across the shoreline, angry, heavy steps that leave deep footprints behind them. He knows enough to not question why they do not fit the shoe. "Who cares! I am tired of hurting the people closest to me! Do you think Tommy wouldn't have been exiled, do you think Wilbur would still be alive, if it wasn't for me?"</p><p>"Techno-"</p><p>"No! I know you feel the same, I can <em>see </em>it! Don't pretend as if you're better than me, because deep down you'd rather give up as well."</p><p>"Fine! So what if I do? I can't just stop playing my part, not when I'm so close to finally getting a happy ending."</p><p>"And then what?" He takes a step forward. A challenge. "What happens after that? You live happily ever after? We both know that will never happen."</p><p>"It will." They stand toe to toe. Green and red, shining in the moonlight.</p><p>"It can't. That's not its nature."</p><p>"What if I agree to give up as well? What then?"</p><p>"Then I'd offer you a nice glass of poison, like the one I had planned to drink tonight."</p><p>"And if I drank?"</p><p>"You'd be dead before morning."</p><p>Silence. The waves do not lap on the shore, so still the water is. A single breath could break its surface. Techno has stopped pacing, waiting with bated breath on his answer. Too delicate to prompt, too important to wait.</p><p>"I'll do it."</p><p>The moon touches the horizon. Its face is large and looming as it watches two ruby drinks be poured.</p><p>They raise their glasses to the heavens above.</p><p>"To the end of an era."</p><p>The moon cannot see what happens next. Darkness has swallowed it whole.</p><p>But when the sun comes up in the morning, it shines upon two empty glasses and corpses swept away by the tide.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Don't Shoot The Messenger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Philza opened the door, wincing at the high pitched whine his ankle monitor issued as he approached the boundary of his property. He glared down at the young president before him, and his posse of cabinet members. Quackity folded his arms, brusquely shouldering into his house. A sliver key glittered in his hands. It filled Phil's hungry gaze.</p><p>"We've come to bring you news," Tubbo says, something unidentifiable in his gaze</p><p>"What is it?" Philza has no time for jokes. The cuff on his leg brushes up against a patch of skin its rubbed raw, and he winces. "You wouldn't need an entire cabinet to tell me about current affairs. If you're going to kill me, you might as well get it over and done with quickly."</p><p>"No, no! It's nothing like that. Phil- I'm sorry, but we found Technoblade washed up beneath the dock's pylons. He was dead."</p><p>There's a visible shudder that courses through his body. Emotion shines wetly in Tubbo's eyes. He finally recognises it as pity.</p><p>"Techno's... dead?"</p><p>"To put it simply, we have no reason to detain you any longer. You're free." Despite his dismissive tone, Quackity seems less than happy at the turn of events. He ignores the damp atmosphere, casts away any remorse he has and lets his face remain impassive and uncaring. Reluctantly, he even gives up the keys when the president asks for them.</p><p>Phil is too shocked to react when it fits into the lock on his restraint. Too frozen to acknowledge the blink of red has finally subsided. But when the monitor clatters to the floor, he does not hesitate to act.</p><p>Tubbo's head connects with the ground, a sword flashing in Phil's hand. "What the hell did you do to my son?"</p><p>Quackity draws his weapon, and Phil almost rolls his eyes at the pathetic attempt to seem threatening. The president to whom his blade presses firmly down upon and his vice president would not be able to harm him, not before he killed both of them in a single fell swoop. He is calculating the easiest way to be rid of them when out of the corner of his eye, he can see Fundy quietly donning netherite armour. There is no doubt he could take on all three, there is a reason he is called the Angel of Death, after all, but there are some lines he does not wish to cross. Even if his traitorous grandson had imprisoned him for weeks on end, the loss was far too raw for the addition of salt. He lets his sword hang at his side.</p><p>"Philza, we understand you're upset, but know that we did not kill Techno," says Tubbo, far too calm for someone nursing their throat where the phantom sword still lingered. "You're a free man. You may leave or stay. We will let you grieve in peace."</p><p>Quackity is quick to butt in, "Though that does not mean any public funeral will be held in L'Manberg. There is no place in our hearts for terrorists."</p><p>"Your hearts are more hollow than the hole your country is built upon," he bites back frostily.</p><p>"And just as scarred." Fundy finally talks, and Phil is unsure what emotions are caught in the turmoil within, flickers of conflict dancing across his face. "We will leave your wounds to heal if you do not tear at ours." Sage and soft-spoken, wiser than he'd ever known. He can only bow his head, and ask for a final request.</p><p>"I would like his body."</p><p>"I beg your pardon?"</p><p>"My son. I want to take it to his house, take him far away from here."</p><p>"It will be done."</p><p>And it is, in a coffin of splintered driftwood and fraying rope. Tubbo bites his lip as he presents it to him, guilt and relief roiling in equal parts. Phil cannot bear to say a word, so he takes it quietly and does not stare a corpse in its eyes.</p><p>He carries it every step of the way until grass gives way to snow and forests give way to tundra plains. He relishes the icy sea wind that swirls like a snowstorm in his lungs and acknowledges that one will never breathe it again. The southern lights are ribbons of rippling silk above the lone cottage, no light in its windows. Finally, he stops.</p><p>He does not dare open the lid.</p><p>Phil lights the fire and makes Techno's favourite soup and sets two places at the table for one. He spins tales of the old days and fills in the silence he pretends not to hear. He makes a final night for Techno, wishing he had been able to have it on time. He does not sleep, wondering if there was anything more he could have done.</p><p>In the morning, Ghostbur visits. Behind him, a sheep dyed blue that looks awfully depressed is dragged on a leash. "Look, Dadza! I found blue! His name is Friend."</p><p>Phil swallows and weakly pats his head. "That's nice, Will."</p><p>"Isn't it? Where's Techno? I need to show him Friend as well."</p><p>His eyes gleam brightly in the early morning sun, and Phil has half a mind to not tell him. But there is no way he could keep his twin's death from him, even if he forgot it immediately. So he says, "Wilbur- Ghostbur, there is something I need to show you."</p><p>Down the stairs, through the basement, into a room covered in ice and frozen stone. He beckons the ghost closer, and tenderly opens the lid.</p><p>There is a scream and a flash of blue.</p><p>Ghostbur collapses to the floor, clutching his head until Phil is sure that, had he still been alive, there would have been rivulets of blood drawn from his nails. Wails reverberate off the walls in a banshee cry. And then, when the echoes subside, he stands.</p><p>He stands with dark eyes. His shirt is grey, his coat is brown, his gloves are black. He radiates heat, and when he steps up to Phil, there is the lingering scent of gunpowder. He only says three words.</p><p>"I remember everything."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. How Can It Be You?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Wilbur?"</p><p>He hardly dares breathe for fear that the figure in front of him, more real than he had ever been, would blow away like an illusion in the wind. But then he found warm arms wrap around him, burying his head to their chest, holding on dearly to the smell of smoke and soot like it was a lifeline. Tears rolled down his face in waves, stained grey and blue as they soaked into his shirt. "It's really you."</p><p>And when his head came away, he could see that lopsided grin with all the depth that Ghostbur could never manage, a sadness that shone not in blue, but the chocolate brown of his eyes. He nodded, stepping back in limbs that seemed too awkward for someone that was so gloriously opaque. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."</p><p>"But... how? You were dead."</p><p>"Technically, I still am," he admits with a dull chuckle, his meagre attempts to alleviate the mood falling back like mist to dampen it. "I'm still Ghostbur, just with more memories."</p><p>"But only now. You couldn't remember anything, until now."</p><p>"Correct."</p><p>"So why? Why did it have to be this moment, only when Technoblade is dead and Tommy is gone and I have no-one, why did you have to come back? You could have helped. You could have been there when we - when <em>I </em>- needed you most. But you came back once all the tears are shed and I am empty. <em>Why?</em>"</p><p>"Phil, I... I don't have an answer for you. Ghosts walk the earth for a purpose, even if what we are meant for is cruelly conceived. I wish I could have been here long before, god do I wish it. Do you know how many atrocities I stood by and let happen because I couldn't remember they had even occurred? But I am here now, and the past is long behind us." A wry, twisted smile curves at his lips. He gestures to the casket, lid closed, the father never having even seen what was inside. "I suppose you know that well enough."</p><p>The silence overstays its welcome far too long, two figures waiting in challenge for the other to yield, both acutely aware of the fallen by their side. In the end, it is the one in between that caves first.</p><p>"Look, I could stand here and apologise all day, but it wouldn't mean anything. He's dead, and that is the truth of it. You can blame me for not being there, you can beat your fists and scream for the injustice of it all, but he is dead and so am I."</p><p>His expression sours, defeated. "So much for 'Technoblade never dies', huh?"</p><p>But then there is a moment, where Wilbur's expression becomes faraway, a question turning over within his mind. "Perhaps," he starts, and there is a hesitation, the realisation of something overlooked. "Perhaps he didn't"</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"I mean that it wasn't Technoblade in that coffin. It was my brother."</p><p>"You don't mean-"</p><p>"I saw his <em>fac</em>e, Phil. I think that is your answer to why I am here."</p><p>And for the first time, Philza peaks over the edge to see the immortal that has been slain. The casket is distinctly lacking, no royalty, no gold or plush velvet. Just something pale and thin. Something that is no god.</p><p>In all the years he has clawed and clung to life, he never felt the cold embrace of death so close. "It's him."</p><p>Sad eyes shine back and there is a smudge of blue glowing around the edges, threatening to devour this memory. He puts the dye back in his pocket. Not today, not ever. "It is."</p><p>"And <em>it</em>?"</p><p>"<em>It </em>is gone. He died free of it."</p><p>The body is still within the casket and those without match. The room is frigid, their breath hanging in the hair in tiny crystal droplets. In and out, one, two, three, then, "Do we bury him?"</p><p>Something is wrong in the way Wilbur turns his head, sharp, with fire dancing behind his eyes. "No. We will wait."</p><p>"For what?"</p><p>"It seems you have forgotten that one of us is missing, Phil. We will bury him as a family. It is what he died for, after all."</p>
<hr/><p>Niki paces the shoreline. The water is eerily calm today, despite the dark clouds brewing on the horizon, melding seamlessly with the already monotonous grey sky above. She picks up a stone, round and flat, and sends it skimming across the water. One, two, three before it sinks.</p><p>The calm before the storm is an unnerving place to be. There is that overwhelming sense of danger that creeps into the quiet moments in the raised hairs on your neck, the shiver down your spine. Such warnings are never meant to be ignored, but it is hard to prepare if you have no idea what happens next.</p><p>Such felt Niki, skimming stones across still waters, waiting for the storm to hit. She did not see the wall of water marching across the harbour towards her. The crash of it breaking across the pier fell on dead ears. But when the waves deposited an object at her feet, peals of thunder rumbling overhead, she took notice.</p><p>Dusting the sand off it, barely registering the tiny tingle of electricity that sparked at her fingertips she held it up to get a good look. She stared at it in horror.</p><p>In her hands was a mask.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <em>*bangs head against table* why is it so hard to write something?</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Anyway, sorry for the delay, I have had a <em>little</em> trouble writing this chapter. I hope you still enjoyed, and I'll try to get the next chapter out ASAP</p><p>Have a good day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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